Embers of the past
by Sweet Intoxication13
Summary: Two souls, destined to meet; their dark fates entwined. A forbidden love. Christine Daae will find her Angel of Music, but with the love of another so close on her heals she is soon trapped beyond the facade she must keep up. Shall love prevail? Or shall dark shadows of the pasts, and disgraceful secrets haunt her forever?


**Plot Description: **Two souls, destined to meet; their dark fates entwined. A forbidden love. Christine Daae will find her Angel of Music. But shall love prevail? Or shall dark shadows of the past, and disgraceful secrets haunt her forever?

**Title: **Embers of the Past

**Disclaimer: **I do not own any songs or characters used in this story, except for perhaps a few OC's I may incorporate. They belong to their rightful owners, which I will give credit to in the chapters that they are used. In this chapter, and the rest of the fan-based novel, the characters belong to Gaston Leroux.

**WARNING:** This story is rated M for language and strong sexual situations. If you feel uncomfortable reading such scenes, I will give warning before they begin, or at the beginning of the chapter. If you are under the appropriate age to be reading such material, please do not go any further. I hope you enjoy chapter one.

**Author's Note: **Well, here I am with another story. I hardly call myself a perfectionist, and I know this chapter is a bit rough around the edges. But I plan within the next few chapters to smooth it out, and get into the plot and the dramas within it. I hope you enjoy this first chapter, however vague it may be. If you see any grammatical or spelling errors, please tell me and I will be sure to fix them. Thank you, and without further ado...

_.Spencer._

* * *

**(CHRISTINE'S POV)**

The evening was cold. The chilled blue sky ablazen with fiery rays of the setting sun. I stood from my place, my tear-stained face upturned toward the sky. The cool autumn air nipped at what little of my skin was bare. My heart pounded from within my chest, one slow beat after another, again and again I could hear it ring through my ears, much like the steady tune of a drum, mournful in its beatings. Only one mere thought rung through my mind, as I blinked tears down my cheeks: _he's dead. Father is dead._

I had seen his body, cold and lifeless. His eyes - so soft once, lined with hope and happiness - were now soulless and decrepit. His fingertips, cold as ice and already beginning to discolor. I could feel my hands trembling as I thought of him, his difficulty taking in breath and horrendous coughing. How he had looked at me, life fleeting from his eyes, his last words only coming out as a weak whisper. "_I love you, Christine. N-never lose fa-faith that I should send you your Angel of Music. H-he will Guide you."_

Hours had passed, as I stared up at the sky. When I had arrived standing in the centre of the field - surrounded by our acres of vast land, now being frosted over by the winters snowy breath - the sun had only begun setting. And now the moon was beginning to grow stronger with its pale rays.

I had not cried for many years. Here I was now, crying as I had the day of my birth, at age seventeen. I felt so childish, as though eyes were watching me from afar, mocking me. But still I cared not. I could almost feel my father's presence, my Angel's presence, so close I could almost taste it. And still I knew it was only a fantasy. Yet, I felt a sense of true believing rage through me. I knew my Father would not fail me - he would send me my Angel of Music.

From behind me, I heard the distant sound of horses' hooves upon pavement, and a carriage door slam. I turned back toward my estate, and began sprinting toward my father's estate. Quickly, I unlatched the backdoor and slipped inside, just as a thunderous knock came to the front door. I went and answered it, wiping the tears from my eyes and moving a strand of hair from my eyes. I drew a breath and opened the door, my eyes meeting those of someone I did not recognize. It was an older woman, perhaps fifty years of age of so, with a long brown braid going to her back. She was dressed from head to toe in black, and her eyes were tear-rimmed and red. "Mademoiselle Christine Daae?" She asked, her voice a bit stifled.

"I am," I answered, sniffling a bit, "Please excuse my appearance. How may I help you?"

The woman smiled kindly, "I was a friend of your father's. Forgive my impertinence, my name is Madame Marie Giry."

"A friend of my father's, you say?" I blinked, confusion setting in. I was ashamed to have this woman look at me. I was sure my appearance was utterly wretched, as I had been standing out in the cold for hours, crying like a child. "Forgive me, Madame Giry, my Father never mentioned you to me."

"Oh, no, I suspected he would not have," Marie Giry held forward a piece of parchment, which I promptly took and recognized as my Father's will. "I imagine you have read this?" When I shook my head, she raised a suspicious eyebrow, but instead said, "His final wish was for me to take you into my custody. I live at the Opera Populaire, I expect you have been there once before?"

"Many times," I said, my eyes shining both with tears and rapture. I adored the opera. I had gone many times as a child, although it had been many years since I had been there. And yet, as I stared upon this old woman's face, her sharp features and traces of youthful beauty from the past, I was unable to read her thoughts. Her eyes, hard - though sympathetic - could not be read, and I was unsure if I could put my trust into a stranger such as her.

Marie smiled, "It is lovely, is it not? And it shall be your new home." Something in her voice cracked, and sadness lined it. Sorrowful tears well in her eyes, but she choked the down, maintaining a sharp look about her.

"I am afraid I do not understand, how did you come to know my Father?" I inquired, creasing my eyebrows a bit.

I saw a flicker of hesitation in Marie's eyes, and she replied slowly, "That is not important. He trusted me with most everything, and he wanted me to care for you. Come, pack your things. I will send a few Opera workers for the rest of your luggage on the morrow. We must leave quickly."

I could not help but wonder why she denied my request of telling the tale of how she came to know my father. What sort of secret could be in that? A mere tale of meeting. It seemed blasphemous, and my doubts and questions increased as I looked at her face, shadowed by the few lanterns glowing. Instead of expressing my confusion, I merely said, "Yes, of course. But if you do not mind my asking, why do you live at the Opera?"

I read sadness in the old woman's eyes, "My husband owned it for a time, after his death we - my daughter, Meg, and I - sold it. I suppose we could not bring ourselves to leave."

I nodded, "I understand." Though I did not.

_**xXx**_

I sat in the carriage, my fingertips pressed against the cool glass of the carriage window. I felt a warm tear slide down my face slowly, and drip off of my chin. Marie was seated next to me, staring forward as she had been for the whole silent ride on our way to the Opera Populaire.

I let my mind wander, and thought of my Angel. I wondered how he would be delivered to me, what form he should take place in. Perhaps he would lure me, in a song of beauty and rapture, serenity. I did not know what to expect, and it both thrilled be and frightened me.

I thought of my Father, his promise to me. He had been kind, gentle. I suppose it was because he had lost my mother at my birth. He had treated me with such care, such love. Tears sprang to my eyes thinking of him. And yet, I felt a feeling of faith wash over me serenely, for I knew he would guide me from Heaven; send me my Angel. Perhaps he was with mother now, smiling down upon me... Perhaps...

Soon, I felt the carriage come to a shuddering halt, and I came back into reality. "We are here," I heard Marie whisper to me.

Before me, I was confronted by a massive stone building. I had almost forgotten what it had looked like, but I almost instantly recognized the Opera Populaire. I bit my lip, exiting the carriage and taking my bags in my hand. I was terribly anxious.

"Come, Christine," Marie put her arm on my back, and lead me toward the building, "Allow me to show you your new home."

_**xXx**_

"Here is the chorus girls' chambers," Marie held the door open to a room, with many beds lined up and girls sleeping on them. I looked over the sleeping chorus girls. Most seemed to be my age, or only a few years my elder. Many were quite beautiful. I wondered what it would be like, to live in a place so busy and majestic. I knew from that moment on that my life would be changed considerably, I merely did not imagine in such a drastic way as it soon would come to be.

"Goodnight, dear," Marie said, her voice softer now than it had been all night, a whisper, as if a prayer. It was laced with concern and care, as though I were just a delicate flower, and if she spoke to loudly my silken petals would fall away. And, just before she closed the door, I saw her eyes move to the ceiling, a she murmured something under her breath very quietly. I could not hear her words, but I am sure they were not directed to me.

I was already dressed in my nightdress, and I tightened the laces on my hips. I walked into the chamber, finding a free bed. I set my things down by the bed, lying down on the bed and pulling the blankets over my shoulders.

The chamber was black as night, and all was still and silent. I could hardly hear my own breathing. I settled into the bed. The ghostly white sheets were cool beneath my back, and my fingers weaved through the mess of my dark locks of hair. So I lay there, dreaming, imagining. I let my thoughts wander, to how just in the few hours that had rolled by I had lost and gained so much.

I bit my lip when my thoughts rested upon the one thing I least wanted to think of; my father. Where was he now? The question arose in my mind, and would not cease to pound against my mind. Was he safe? Could he see me? Oh, I had always believed in the light above, and in the existence of Hell's flames. But I had always been far too curious for my own sake. I had always wondered - and continue to wonder - if perhaps believing was not enough. After all, we only accounted on what had occurred in many years past. But I knew he was looking down upon me, somewhere in my mind. I believed it with all of my might. My father was a good, honest man. His flaws were few. Many times I felt less than the daughter he deserved, but I suppose that is irrelevant.

A salty, hot tear made its crooked path down my cheek, and slid off the side of my face. I vigorously wiped it away. I would have to be strong, these next few months. I was no longer a child.

Suddenly, I heard a gentle whisper, almost inaudible, but inevitably there. _"Christine..."_

It was a man's voice, and I sat upright, clutching my blankets with all my might so that my knuckles where white. "Angel?"

_"Christine..."_

I closed my eyes, hearing him whisper to me... It was him, my Angel. He was there... he would always be there.


End file.
